


Predictable Chaos

by subtropicalStenella



Series: SWR: PTAU [2]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Animal Injury (Past), Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Morning Routines, Off-Screen Dog Attack, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Service Dogs, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtropicalStenella/pseuds/subtropicalStenella
Summary: Let's talk about Chopper, and how Military and Service dogs are entirely too smart for their own good.(There is mention of a dog attack in this episode. Chopper chases off someone who was egging the house. Unfortunately actual military dogs can be very high strung, territorial and are specifically trained to do violence. They also can be as seriously affected by PTSD as people.  It's not graphic or even described. No Brats Were Harmed In The Making Of This Fic, but I felt a warning was needed.)





	Predictable Chaos

Mornings are kind of a routine disaster around here, all of it organized by Chopper.

 

Yes, Chopper. The dog runs the house.

 

Chopper is a 12yo, 75lb Belgian Malinois, a breed affectionately dubbed  _ malligators  _ by enthusiasts, due to the fact that they've been bred to have bear traps for faces. Twelve is generally considered pretty old for a Malinois, but no one seems to have informed Chopper of this and we're all fairly certain he's immortal anyway, due to being pickled in his own spite and bile from puppyhood.

75lb is considered normal size for a 4-legged Malinois. Chopper is a bit of a sausage for a tripod, on account of his highly specialized, hand-prepared 100% Organic Whole Prey Raw diet being highly augmented by nightly trashcan raids and the occasional squirrel.

He hates water, including rain, puddles and baths.

The lack of a forelimb and eye does nothing to prevent him from having a 6ft vertical leap and the ability to chase the aforementioned squirrels and the neighborhood's myriad of feral cats up trees, fences, and the side of the house. The arthritis in his hips means he's not particularly happy about having to do so on cold days, but like hell will that stop him either.

 

As a result, mornings go Like So:

 

**5a:** The growls, cursing and thumping that indicates Chopper pulling all the blankets off Caleb to wake him up. That's either upstairs in the master bedroom or downstairs on the couch, if Caleb had a Bad Night.

Either way, Caleb is waking up whether he likes it or not. He complains the entire time, every time, but (when Chopper is out of earshot) admits that it's good for him, because it's difficult to Depression Nap and/or mope listlessly on the couch when the dog is physically dragging you around by his grip on your pants leg in a very clear canine demand of WALKIES. NOW.

 

It's good for both of them, really. They don't really go for  _ runs _ , at least not yet. They're building up a routine with long walks, figuring out how the neighborhood works, until Kanan can get around confidently and sort of predict what may happen on a run. I dunno if he'll actually run-run though? Can blind people safely go for runs?

Anyway they're figuring out where the sidewalk is cracked or otherwise a trip hazard, where the roads intersect and turn and flood after storms, which trees have low-hanging branches, which neighbors don't pay attention when leaving their driveway or coming up on an intersection, that sort of thing. They're taking it slow, because it would be  _ astoundingly  _ stupid for Caleb/Kanan to have survived getting shot twice and then tortured on a separate occasion only to get flattened by some 9-5er doing 50mph in a 15 and texting while driving. Caleb does calisthenics like sit-ups and stuff on the street corners and pull-ups on the swing set in the neighborhood park to make up for lack of cardio-via-running.

 

They don't go out on Tuesdays, though, because that's Trash Day, which seems like a stupid reason not to go running, and it  _ is  _ a stupid reason… for  _ people _ . They don't go out on Tuesdays for  _ Chopper’s  _ sake.

Y’know how some dogs need to stop, sniff and investigate e v e r y t h i n g they encounter, just to see what it is? Chopper does.

Chopper especially needs to investigate strange piles of debris and trash, his hackles up, twitching and snarling the whole time... because it might be a bomb.

 

See, that's how Hera got Chopper, and how Caleb ended up with a half-trained service dog as soon as he got out of the hospital. Chopper had already been in The Service. Chopper was a Military Police dog, and had served with some of the guys Hera’s dad trained and served with. When an IUD killed both his handlers and took out his left foreleg, eye and part of his skull, Captain Syndulla (Sr) told Captain Syndulla (Jr) about it and she took it upon herself to make sure Sgt. Chopper got a good home. Did you know dogs get medals and official military rank? Yeah. Chopper has  _ six. _ They go on his personal bulletproof vest with his personal name tapes and rank insignia. He got specialized aid-to-the-blind training at a special school while Caleb was with Dr. Atollan, because Caleb wouldn't accept any other dog.

But yeah, no walkies on Trash Day because it makes Chopper a nervous wreck for like, two days afterwards.

 

**630a:** Caleb and Chopper get back and Chopper does the blanket thing with me. Sabine gets a few minutes extra sleep while he herds me downstairs, because Chopper plays favorites, but she'll eventually get the same treatment.

If Hera is at sea, Caleb will probably be out of the shower, in jeans and a horrible ironic tee or oversized sweater, depending on the weather, and pouring his second-at-minimum cup of coffee into his face by the time Sabine and I are ready to scrounge up breakfast.

He kicked the rest of the substance abuse problems, (everything but alcohol had been casual anyway, “Partially to blend in, partially because (he's) a fuckin idiot” but he'd been a moderately functional alcoholic since before he even went undercover, from when he'd lost his mentor/partner, Special Agent Billaba. That had taken help, and not just from Dr. Atollan.) but the caffeine addiction was permanent. 

 

Chopper might be helping him make breakfast in exchange for pieces of whatever meat product is part of breakfast. Or raw eggs.

Like, actually helping. He already knew how fetch pretty much any object and use light switches and a bunch of other tasks/routines (if there's something in it for him) when Hera got him. He could also open doors, but we're not sure if the Navy taught him that or if he taught himself. All the doors in the house have lever handles specifically for him, and the fridge has a pull-rope on the handle, same with the sliding-glass door out back. 

 

Speaking of eggs, funny story: it's a fucking riot when the neighborhood kid that's got some kind of suburban-rebellious hateboner for you eggs your house and thinks he's safe because the dog is “locked” in the house.

We didn't actually see it happen, but it was pretty obvious when we came home from the movies to find Chopper studiously licking egg off the garage door, pausing only to present Hera with a pair of jeans that didn't belong to anyone in our house and had clearly been forcefully removed from their owner. With the owner's wallet in the back pocket.

Hera had, obviously,  _ immediately _ gone to the appropriate house to apologize (and beg them not to call animal control) but  _ Commodore  _ Sato was remarkably chill about it, having suspected his errant nephew had done something excessively stupid to arrive home filthy and pantsless after 10pm. It helped that Chopper was a Trained Professional and had  _ only  _ gotten Mart’s pants, and not actually hurt him. Also that Mart’s friend-and-sidekick Gooti (seriously, it's something from her native language. Her parents are first generation immigrants and traditionalists of... something. I don't know her that well.) thought it was  _ fucking hilarious _ and told Sabine the whole story over lunch so no hard feelings or something because he was kinda asking for it? Whatever. Apparently my life is a sitcom.

Oh right, and if Hera is home, Caleb is probably still in his workout clothes and trying to corner her for a sweaty, disgusting hug because he's a monster.

 

**8a:** We're ready for… whatever we're doing that day. If it’s a school day and Hera let's her have the truck, Sabine drives us both. If not, and it's not raining or otherwise gross out, she rides her custom-painted crotch-rocket CB300 to school, cementing my reputation as the Most Badass Student Ever’s Lame Kid Brother, even though she's less than like two years older than me, because that means I ride the bus.

Hera’s either at sea or going to work on the local base if her ship is in port for duty.

Caleb does… whatever he does. Consulting work for the FBI now, mostly from home, taking classes on specialized training in blind self-defense because apparently he wants to be  _ Daredevil  _ or something. Or it's good for his recovery, he liked martial arts anyway, and he doesn't want to let his training go to waste.

 

… it's probably the  _ Daredevil  _ thing. 

 

He and Chopper walk me down to the bus stop. Caleb only goes because Chopper  _ insists _ on seeing me off but it would be weird if he walked back to the house alone. Someone would probably try to pick him up, thinking he wasn't smart enough to find his own way home, and end up chasing him all over the neighborhood because he would think that's  _ hilarious. _


End file.
